Clue
by Miri Fern
Summary: A parody of the 1985 film Clue using the characters/situations in Ghosts. Sixteen-no, seventeen-years after the events of the short film, the townsfolk of Normal Valley are brought back to Someplace Else for a... dinner party? In typical Maestro fashion, he has something up his sleeve. But just what is it, and why does the stolen humor suddenly stop whenever it's brought up?
1. Chapter 1

Buried partially by forest and the other half by obscurity, the small, unintimidating town of Normal Valley lay. It's houses were suburban, the design pedestrian; the closest supermarket was a short walk away and the old town rested sleepily at the center, with the 1756 brick town hall and colonial buildings.

It was a place rich in Americana setting, but not once in it's long history had there ever occurred an event of momentum enough to push Normal Valley-named for the first mayor, Norm Winston-onto the map of tourists.

With only one exception: Someplace Else.

"Someplace Else" was what was written on a plaque at the gate at the foot of the majestic mountain overlooking the valley. A path raced up from it; a road that seemed ludicrously short when you entered and an eternity in length when you were leaving. At the other end of the path was a mansion.

The mansion was, unlike the town, Gothic in design. It had spires and arches and gargoyles, resembling more a medieval cathedral than a local curiosity. The people knew the house was old, and had been needing the wrecking ball for some time, but otherwise, Someplace Else was more mystery to them than the Love Road Rocket.

But the townspeople also knew that something was in that house. Something that did not like to be disturbed. That was what prevented the mayor from tearing down the place; it had mothers tucking their children in at night saying "Just stay away from Someplace Else, and you'll be alright." But worst of all, it kept Normal Valley the same as it's name-a normal, unassuming, nice neighborhood. Because everyone was afraid of this place, this haunted mansion, and nobody wanted to have fingers pointing at them when it came down to it.

One night this past midsummer, the gate suddenly opened. It was not windy, and there was nothing there to push it-but open it did. Mere minutes later, a car rolled up and parked right in front of the house. A man in a suit stepped out and walked up to the front door, which opened before he could knock.

Cautiously, the man took just two steps inside the darkened house. The door slammed shut behind him, and he jumped.

The lights flicked on, blindingly bright. Trembling like a leaf from nervousness, the man looked around warily. He was a tall, gawky fellow with glasses and a neurotic gait.

"Hello, Mr. Beze."

Squeaking, he faced the speaker. Half hidden, Beze could just barely make out the figure of a man standing in a doorway off to the side, leaning casually with one arm against the frame. He had a high-pitched, soft-spoken voice-not at all frightening.

"H-h-hello, sir. The door was open, so I just thought I'd l-l-let myself in." Beze stammered. "I-I received a l-l-letter about a week ago, saying I was invited here-"

"It's all right." The man in the doorway mercifully interrupted his painful mangling of the English language. "I thought you wouldn't come."

Beze straightened, pushing his glasses off of his nose. "I was raised to accept any invitation I get, so long as I can come, sir."

"There's no need to call me sir. It makes me feel old." The man walked forward. "Come with me."

As they walked, Beze looked up and around. "You sure did fix this place up." He murmured.

"It was the best I could do on short notice." Said the mysterious man. "Speaking of which, I hope you won't mind if I wait to explain everything until everyone else has arrived."

"Sure, sure."

"Thank you. Right in here, Mr. Beze…"

A few minutes later, the door was again permitted to open. By then, the sky had darkened, and it was clearly about to rain. The gray sky framed the silhouette of a woman dressed all in black, from her coat to her shoes.

She stepped inside faster than Beze had, presumably because she did not want to be caught in the swiftly-coming rain. The lights lit up her wan face.

"Hello, Mrs. Moore."

The woman turned her head, her expression stoic. "Hello."

The mysterious host was now less hidden. He was clad in an odd pattern of black and white, alternating between each article of clothing; white shirt, black pants, white socks, black shoes. In addition to this, he was unnaturally pale, and had curly black hair that fell past his shoulders. If she recognized him, she didn't show it.

"I have a letter I was sent-an invitation." She retrieved a white envelope from the pocket of her coat. "I figured I'd come, if only to get out of the house."

A slight shift told her he was smiling. "Right this way. May I take your coat first?"

Wordlessly, Moore removed her long coat, revealing a black-beaded dress beneath, and handed it to him. He disappeared behind a wall and reappeared without it. "Come."

They walked to the study. Beze stood up when they entered, his eyes widening at the sight of Moore. "I didn't expect to see you here."

"Nor I you." She replied dryly. He shoved his hands in his pockets and looked down.

Behind their host in the doorway, a face appeared. "This is the maid, Vespa. Care for a drink?"

Vespa, a very young woman with blonde hair and a uniform with a frighteningly short hem, awkwardly squished her way past him and held out a tray of glasses filled with what looked like champagne.

Immediately, Moore flinched.

"If you will excuse me…" Their host shut the door.

For a moment, he stood, leaning against the wood, with a face scrunched up in intense concentration. Then, abruptly, he raised his eyebrows in a shrugging motion and walked back to the front door. The bell rang almost as soon as he got there.

Both Beze and Moore immediately pressed their ears against the door, listening as he opened the door and a voice greeted him in forced-friendly tones: "Hello…"

It was a short-haired, heavyset woman wearing a blue sweater.

"Mrs. Dade, how nice to see you! It's been quite a long time." Said the host. Clearly, he was the better actor. "Please, come in."

Dade shifted, her eyes darting as she walked. "Sixteen years is hardly long-"

"Seventeen, actually. It was the fall of '96 that you came here. Your boy was about, oh-this high the last time I saw him?" He raised his hand, palm down, up to his waist.

Dade looked like she had swallowed twenty year old grape cough medicine. She could see nearly all of him, from his guyliner to his loafers. "You certainly haven't changed…"

Once directed to the study, she went straight to the alcohol, downing nearly all the champagne in one gulp. Only then did she notice the other guests. "Oh God, you two, too?"

Moore looked Dade up and down, drink in hand. "We could say the same for you."

"We could?" Asked Beze incredulously.

Luckily, the door opened again, crushing him against a bookcase. A middle-aged man in a red suit walked in, just as he pulled himself free from the door.

"Sorry," said the man in a gruff voice. He had a goatee and the lower half of his body had grown wider than his upper, but everyone recognized him.

"Colonel Heinz." Their host said anyway.

"Formerly Mr. Payne." Heinz remarked. "I had to change my name for… military purposes."

Vespa came over with the tray. Heinz took a moment to stare at her stockinged legs before he took a drink.

Their host rolled his eyes. "We are expecting two more guests."

"We?" Asked Moore.

"I, the household and your host." He replied.

"Then you're not really our host?" Dade asked between drinks.

"Well, no. He will be along shortly."

"I thought this place belonged to you." Heinz muttered.

"Oh, it does. I am not hosting this party, though." As if on cue, the doorbell rang. "That would appear to be them."

A woman with hair dyed bright orange and a rugged man with five o'clock shadow entered moments later.

"Hello-"

"Professor Smallman and his wife." The not-host interrupted. "Now that you've all arrived, if you would please follow me to dinner…"

The dining room was already set when they arrived. The guests each shuffled their way to the seats-Beze on the left, then Moore, then the Professor across from his wife, with Dade and Heinz next to her.

After a few minutes of silence, during which Moore and the Professor slurped their soup quite loudly, Dade letting her spoon drop with a clank to the bottom of the bowl.

"Now, I know that there's something strange going on here, but since no one is willing to talk, I guess I'll start. We all know each other, and we all know this place and him," she gestured behind her at the not-host, standing with his back against the wall, "but we don't know why we've been summoned here. It's been sixteen-"

"Seventeen." He corrected.

"Seventeen years since we were dragged up here over nothing but parlor tricks, and I want to know why we've suddenly been brought back." She hiccupped. "Do any of you have the slightest idea why we're here?"

Suspicious glances were exchanged. Heinz stood up, tossing down his napkin. "All right, Maestro." He said, fists on his hips. "You had better explain."

The Maestro raised his eyebrows. "I can't."

"Well, why not?" Dade squeaked.

"Are you drunk?" Beze inquired, raising his hand-only to knock over a glass of champagne onto the lap of Moore.

"Are you?" Moore asked with a glare.

As he tried to clean up the mess, Heinz turned back to the Maestro. "How is it that you can invite a bunch of people to your house, but not have a reason why?"

"Are you going to bring back the dead to torment us again?" Dade asked rhetorically, looking somewhat ill.

"No. But I'm not the one who invited you." His brow furrowed. "The host did. He doesn't know that I'm here, though. And he can't know until he's locked inside this house."

"Locked inside?" Mrs. Smallman said, rising from her chair.

"That is what I said." Maestro replied.

"Wait a minute-if he's locked inside, we'll all be trapped in here with him!" The Professor exclaimed. "And you!"

"And me." Maestro agreed.

Just then, the doorbell rang. Everyone looked up, listening.

The front door opened, intensifying the sound of outdoor rain. Muffled words were exchanged-Vespa had answered.

Heinz made a move towards the door, but Maestro blocked his way.

"Let us out of here, dammit!" He tried to push him out of the way, but he wouldn't budge.

Footsteps walked in the hall.

"If you leave now, you'll ruin everything." Maestro whispered. "I'm doing this for all our sakes."

"And what exactly are you doing?" Mrs. Smallman hissed.

The Maestro smiled grimly. "Wait and see."

The footsteps died away. Someone knocked on the door, and Maestro pushed it open.

Vespa stood there, key in hand, her face contorted in fear and nerves. He took the key from her and glanced back at the others.

"Into the study again. I'll go last."


	2. Chapter 2

Once the party had filed into the study, the Maestro shut the door behind them.

No one was there. It was as empty as when they had been inside before. The couches were set up the same, the books were all in their places.

Dade looked around, shuffling her feet. "Well, where is he?"

"Hm?"

A head rose up from behind the couch, turning to face them. She jumped back.

"What? You!"

The head rose higher still, revealing a body. It was a man in his sixties, shaped like a navy blue rectangle thanks to his suit. He was overweight, his belly sticking out over his belt, and wore glasses. He looked a suspicious lot like a 1950's politician.

They all knew him, though.

"Mayor Noble!"

"Just Noble, now. I'm not the mayor anymore." He replied in a voice rather too thin for such a large man. His eyes fell on the Maestro, and his demeanor changed entirely. "Why, it's you."

"It's me?" Maestro asked, arching an already arched eyebrow. "What a surprise that you should meet me here, _in my own home_."

Noble stared at him a moment, then shrugged. "It doesn't matter. The more, the merrier."

He turned and picked up a bottle of amber liquid. "Anyone want brandy? You'll likely need it."

Dade automatically stepped forward, pouring up to the rim of her glass. The rest came along eventually.

"Now," Noble began, setting down his glass with a thud, "we can get down to business."

From his pocket, he retrieved a manila envelope. Everyone suddenly became attentive.

He looked at Maestro, still indulging in his habit of leaning against walls. "My old friend, would you care to do the honors?"

Maestro looked at his outstretched hand, his already large eyes abnormally wide. "You're going to give me it?"

"Why not? Now, do it."

He thrust the folder into Maestro's arms.

"Go on. Read it." Noble smirked, leaning with one hand on the arm of a couch.

Cautiously, the Maestro opened the folder. A wealth of papers, documents, photos, and notes poured out. A ripple passed through the others.

"Is that-"

"Why do you…"

"That's mine!"

"Ladies, gentlemen, please. Allow our friend to read, and everything will be explained."

The Maestro pulled out the top document, cleared his throat, and squinted. "'To all who have come, you all have one thing in common with each other, though you may not know it: you are all being blackmailed.'"

"What!" Dade exclaimed.

At her outburst, Beze's elbow struck Smallman's shoulder, spilling his brandy on her. She glared at him.

Dade went on. "I'm not being blackmailed. That's ridiculous-I've never done anything wrong!"

The rest did not look so certain.

"Quite the contrary, Mrs. Dade." The Maestro replied, without looking up from the papers. "It says here that you took bribes and embezzled money from the city council while you were working there as a secretary. By slipping notes underneath the door to the men's bathroom, apparently."

Her mouth opened, then closed, and she sank down on the couch, silent.

"Mr. Heinz, you were engaged in the illegal buying and selling of prescription drugs. You made a fortune off the black market."

Heinz raised his hands. "Now, you've got that wrong-I came into money during the war when I lost my mommy and daddy."

"Which war? You don't look that old." Dade muttered. A few stray gazes wandered to the Maestro, and he blinked.

"The Professor here isn't really a professor at all-or at least, not anymore. He lost his license."

Beze glanced up. "What'd he do?"

Maestro leaned forward. "You know that thing teachers aren't supposed to do with their students?"

"What?" Heinz asked.

"He did."

"Oh God." Dade said, clutching her forehead.

Mrs. Smallman crossed her arms. "I knew we shouldn't have come here."

The Professor, one hand in his hair, whirled on her. "You're the one who convinced me in the first place!"

"You justified coming here for the boys!"

"The boys, the boys! The boys could care less-Paul certainly can't, now that he's dead!"

Maestro stared at them, wide eyed.

Mrs. Smallman saw the look on his face. "Car accident-you all knew already, why didn't you tell him about it?!" She gestured wildly at the rest of the guests. Nobody moved.

"I'm sorry for your loss." Maestro said quietly.

"Like hell you ought to be. He was just as much of a drunk as his miserable lout of a father. If you ask me, he's better off dead!"

Needless to say, an awkward silence followed.

Moore stepped forward. "Well, I'm not going to sit here and wait for you to unmask me. I am being blackmailed-but for something I didn't do."

Maestro frowned. "And what didn't you do?"

"I didn't kill my husband. Granted, there's no way he could have killed himself-he was found with his head cut off and missing his-well, you know. But he was deranged. He'd threatened to kill me in public."

"Why would he do that?" Heinz murmured.

The Professor leaned towards him. "I believe she means that he threatened in public to kill her."

"Oh." Said Heinz. "But if you didn't kill him, who did?"

Moore looked offended. "How should I know? The window was broken-it could have been any maniac with a knife. I'm sure he had enemies."

"And your second husband disappeared." Maestro noted, reading ahead.

"He was an illusionist; that was his job." She replied matter-of-factly.

The Professor looked confused. "Why didn't he reappear?"

She shook her head. "He wasn't a very good illusionist."

On that note, Beze took off his glasses. "Uh, before you read anything about me-I figure I might as well just come out and say it." He sighed, his hands in his pockets. "I work for the FBI."

His announcement was met with blank, dumbfounded stares, and a baffled Maestro flipping through the documents in an attempt to find proof that such a hapless bumbler was really a government agent.

Mrs. Smallman ran a hand over her hair. "Well, then. All that's left is Mr. Noble here."

Maestro glanced up, quirking an eyebrow. "Isn't it obvious? He's the one who's blackmailing you."

Lightning flashed, and all hell broke loose.

"Please." Maestro said, holding up his hands against the onslaught of death threats that followed. "The police have already been notified and will be here within the hour. We have the evidence," he held up the folder, "the culprit, and this conversation is being tape recorded."

Instead of calming them, this only incited more shouts from the other guests.

"If they have the evidence, they also have our secrets!" Dade shrieked.

The Professor swore.

"I can't go to prison!" Moore exclaimed.

"I need my money!" Heinz shouted.

"The government can't know I work for them!" Cried Beze.

Noble stood up and made a move towards the door. Maestro stepped in front of him. "Where do you think you're going?"

The former mayor grinned, then turned to one of the tables, where a suitcase lay. "Just getting my bag."

He opened the suitcase, and everyone fell silent. Inside were six black boxes.

Dade, who was nearest, received one first. "What is this?"

"A gift." Noble replied, handing out the boxes to each of the guests.

Mrs. Smallman huffed. "Fine. I'll take a present from a strange man-obviously, nothing bad will happen." She undid the tie and lifted the cover.

Inside was a silver candlestick. She lifted it out; it was heavy. "What's this for?"

Moore pulled out a line of rope, coiled and tied into a noose. Beze found a lead pipe; Heinz a rusted wrench.

Dade, on the other hand, found a dagger in her box. Near her, the Professor reached in and revealed a revolver.

"Now, folks." Noble said, closing his suitcase. "I predicted all of this. Now, you can choose what happens next."

He turned to Maestro. "Our old friend here has the key to the front door hidden somewhere on his person. He is also in possession of the evidence folder. The record of this conversation is in the billiard room down the hall, with the maid. If one of you were to, say, kill him, you would have the means to escape, burn the tape and the evidence, and forget all about this whole thing. It's your head that's at stake here, not his."

"And if we all leave, you'll just go on blackmailing us!" Dade snapped.

"Precisely. But your secrets will stay safe, so long as you keep paying me." Noble said with a smile. He reached up to touch the light switch. "Now, if you will allow me to turn out the lights-"

The room was plunged into darkness.


End file.
